When he's not a Sociopath
by Moriarty-Florence Moriarty
Summary: Oneshot request. Sherlock is ill and he only wants one person to treat him.


'As contagion of sickness makes sickness, contagion of trust can make trust.'

-**Marianne Moore**

**xxx**

John Watson was perplexed. Living with Sherlock Holmes meant that he spent a lot of his time confused and behind in conversation, but today John Watson was well and truly lost.

As usual he was sitting in his designated arm chair at 221b, in his most comfy sweater and a cup of tea at his side. But the former army doctor was feeling anything but ease. Outside was pouring with rain and everything was coloured in various shades of grey, but the inside of the apartment was warm and full of the smells and noises of cooking, being made by one very nervous pathologist.

John awoke this morning to a silent and still flat, ready to spend the whole day relaxing before his date with a woman he met and was taking out to dinner. But as soon as John stepped out of his bedroom he knew something was wrong, everything was too quiet.

**xxx**

On further inspection John found his best friend and flat mate as he had never seen him before.

Sherlock Holmes had been spread out across his bed, all gangly limbs and clinging clothes, with a red face and a string of unintelligible noises coming out if his mouth that looked to be twisted in pain. After a quick Doctors analysis John diagnoses that Sherlock had caught the common cold (caught it bad), all without waking or touching the consulting detective. When Sherlock final stirred from his slumber, gurgling and gasping as he went, John confirmed his diagnosis and informed Sherlock that he would not be leaving his bead to chance criminals for a few days. John had narrowly avoided a dress shoe to the forehead.

Two hours went by with John attempting to enter Sherlock's room to help him only to be showered with various heavy things until finial his patience with the detective wore out.

"How am I supposed to help you get better if I can't physically get near you _to_ help?"

Silence surrounded the doctor for a long moment, before a unintelligible mumble came from the bedroom.

"Sorry I didn't catch that?"

" …_mem mowe wlee_…"

"What, I don't understand?"

"_Text Molly_!" the other man hissed.

John frowned and shifted to stand so he could see Sherlock.

"What?"

"_Molly, Molly Hooper the pathologist at Barts who you always ogle the arse of. __**Text her**__. Get her __**here**_!" Sherlock growled into his pillow.

After John had attempted to get more information from Sherlock, who had replied with an expensive looking Rolex aimed at John's privates, The former army Doctor had shuffled off to send a very confused text to the pathologist with the nice bu- Smile.

_Sherlock ill with a head cold, and I know this sounds mental, but he's asking for you. Can you come over? -JW_

Twenty minutes later Molly showed up at the door with a shopping bag under her arm and a bright pink beanie on her head.

"Hullo!" she sang shivering a little, probably more from intimidation than cold.

John smiled. Molly had a way of brightening a room when she wanted to.

John showed her in and took her coat, watching the young pathologist carefully, waiting for the moment where she would run for her life.

"Where is-?"

"The lovely patient? Moaning in his room like a banshee."

"I'll just go see-"

John put a hand on Molly's shoulder stopping her mid stop and mid-sentence. She gazed up at the older man with wide endless brown eyes.

" Molly, you know better than anyone how … 'observant', Sherlock can be and how painful his observations are …. " John dropped his hand and swallowed, "You know all too well".

Molly grimaced, obviously thinking of then same ill-fated Christmas party.

"What I don't understand is why would you still come running even though an ill Sherlock is probably more cruel than normal Sherlock?" John frowned harder, "And why did he ask for you in the first place?"

Molly blushed in blotches. She looked down and twiddled with her hands, which John noticed where wrapped in mittens with a panda face on the backs of the black wool hands.

"Well-"

"_Stop pestering my Pathologist!" _came in a growl form the direction of Sherlock's room "- _and shut up your brain! Your incompetent thoughts are hurting from their!"_

Molly squeaked something John didn't catch and scurried in to Sherlock's room with her shopping bag in tow, and shutting the bedroom door behind her.

John found himself praying for Molly's health, both mental and physical.

**xxx**

And so now John sat, confused and wondering exactly what had happened to make his best friend call on the person in the world who he was cruellest too.

Molly scurried out of the kitchen with a try laden with food; fruit, yoghurt, muesli, toast and various assortments of jams and spreads, next to two fresh cups of tea.

" I guessed that you might not have had breakfast yet- what with how Sherlock is," she said softly as she placed the food on the battered old coffee table and sat on the even more battled scared couch.

"What about the sick bast- man. Sick man?"

Molly smiled and rolled her eyes and John's chivalry. It was very uncommon for a man to not want to curse in front of women these days. Their relationship had become much more relaxed since Sherlock's fall and return, Molly could now safely say that John Watson was one of her best friends.

"Made him some broth and toast. I hope he can keep it down, he really is too thin."

The fell into a semi-comfortable silence as he munched on jammed up toast and she ate muesli topped with yoghurt and pineapple.

She really was an odd duck.

"So…" John started, clearing his throat, "Are you going to tell me why Sherlock demanded me to get you here to play nurse?"

Molly blushed into her breakfast. She looked so out of place in the dark hued flat, dressed in a knitted blue sweater dress, spotted leggings and boots decorated with pom-poms. Not at all like how she dressed when she was on roll at barts, but if you worked with the dead you would want the rest of your world to be bright, wouldn't you?

"It's a long story John…"

"How long will it take for Sherlock to finish that food?"

"With the way his stomach is, probably an hour or so."

"Then we have time."

Molly sighed and sat up straighter on the coach, her eyes going dark and all the smiled leaving her fac. Molly didn't seem to out of place anymore.

"I met Sherlock five years ago, I was working part time at St Barts at the time when … I got into some trouble. The trouble Sherlock is good at making mad…."

**xxx**

_5 Years Ago…._

"Shut up your wining or I will come in there and make you!"

Molly whimpered and curled in on herself so she wouldn't make the noise again.

_I am not having a good year._

Molly Hooper was many things. St Barts youngest female pathologist, a cat owner and the queen or awkward first dates. Now Molly could add abductee to her list.

Molly had been on her way to a night out with her friends when three men jumped her at the mouth of a shady back street, wearing pantie-hoes on their heads and wielding crowbars. They hit the young pathologist over the head, causing her to black out before she could react or try to memorise any live saving details. An unmeasurable amount of time later Molly woke up in the dark, in a freezing room that she had been too afraid to explore for a wait out.

By her estimate that had been two days ago.

_Well you wanted excitement. Everyone told you London was dangerous, but you were so desperate to get out of Cardiff-_

Molly pushed her face against the wall and clenched her eyes closed.

She knew why she was here, why strange men had kidnapped her and who to blame. What she didn't know was if she had any hope of getting out of such a hopeless situation. She also knew that when her kidnappers thought she was weak enough they would come for her again, and when she told them what they wanted they _would_ kill her.

A sudden loud banging from above her startled Molly out of her thoughts and frightened her into an even smaller ball.

A light cascaded down from the previously unseen vent above her and the unmistakable thump of a human body followed soon after her.

Molly looked into the light that hung at the side of a very … very tall and unmistakable male body.

_I'm gonna die._

The man moved and crouched down next to Molly, taking in her; shoeless feet, fishnet stockings, tight black dress and less than shoulder length dyed dark hair.

" … very gothic. Possible spanning from a need to rebel that was repressed during adolesce…" the man mumbled in a low baritone that made Molly shiver, from fear or excitement she couldn't tell.

"M-make i-i-t quic-k-k-k!" Molly squeaked.

The man moved the light so she had an excellent view of his rather oddly handsome face.

_Well at least you won't die by the hands of an ugo. Seriously woman; priorities._

Molly's inner voice was starting to sound vaguely like Ron Weasley.

_God, I've flipped._

"Make what quick?" the man replied with a frown on his face.

"you-r-r not go-o-ing to k-kill me?"

"Why would I climb through a series of metal death traps to kill you?"

Molly shrugged and the man rolled his eyes.

"I am here to rescue you Dr Hooper, or would you rather I left as you seem _so_-"

"No!" Molly yelped and threw herself at the man, gabbing him by the lapels so her wouldn't go. "Please, I'm sorry. I'll do anything. I'm s-sorry please."

The man peeled her away and placed her back on the ground with a grimace on his face, as though her touch disgusted him.

"Get a hold of yourself!" he hissed, "Of course I'm going to save you, but I need you to remain calm. I can't get us out of here and carry a passed out woman at the same time," he frowned at the wall behind Molly as though he was considering whether he actually could accomplish such a feat, when a series of gun shots sounded outside the door.

Molly felt the need to curl up again, but forced herself to stay calm. She needed to stay awake and alert to survive.

"Stretch your legs."

Molly frowned and was about to ask why when the man took her legs in hand and set about massaging the blood back into them himself. Molly blushed in blotches and looked away.

"I'm sorry…" she whispered.

The man paused his ministrations and looked at her quizzically.

"What?"

The young pathologist swallowed.

"I'm-"

"You're sorry you got kidnapped," the man deducted somehow "You think that your ... bothering people by being the victim, even though you had no control over any of this. If anyone should be sorry it's your Uncle. His activist exploits got you into this situation."

Molly looked down, suddenly feeling worse.

"You have nothing to be sorry for and you're not troubling anyone Dr Mary Ann Hooper. Everyone here is doing their job."

The man stood up and pulled Molly with him, steadying her by her forearms when she wobbled dangerously.

"E-everyone?"

"Scotland Yard has the warehouse surrounded and will be working their way up as we speak. I have to incapacitate those who stay behind to guard you."

"Who are you?" Molly asked as the man turned to open the door and expose them both to an ultimately violent situation that Molly would never forget.

The man smirked and spoke lowly.

"Sherlock Holmes; The world's _only_ Consulting Detective."

**Xxx**

"Wow," John sighed as he finished off his tea "I had no idea …. Im not even gonna ask who your uncle is for fear of …" John stopped himself with an awkward cough, while Molly grinned, "Sherlock …He sounds a lot more … smiley than I'm used to."

Molly nodded as she chomped on a bowl of strawberries.

"Yes, well he was a tad bit high all the time back then," Molly commented "a few weeks later Lestrade found out he was off the wagon and vowed that if Sherlock ever so much as thought about drugs again he would never get another case. That's about when he quit for good … and seemed to lose a bit of his _outward_ humanity…"

John smiled and help Molly gather the food remnants on the tray and carry them back into the kitchen. John could get used to Molly and her cooking. Too bad he had Mary …. But then again Mary had many, _many_ perks.

"So that's how you met our consulting twelve year old, but how did you become his on call nurse?"

"I was getting to that," was Molly's softly spoken reply.

John chuckled and apology and motioned for Molly to continue.

"Like I said Sherlock became sober a few weeks after the Incident with my uncles … adversaries, and being Sherlock he went cold turkey, which opened up his system to all kinds of nasty things … that's where I came in…"

**xxx **

Molly stood outside of the daunting building vaguely wondering exactly how she got herself in this weird and rather sudden situation.

After the incident Molly had changed her life drastically, and in some cases unnecessarily. She had cut all connection with her uncle and his radical political party, made sure that when she rarely did go out she was never alone for more than a few minutes and never on the way home, and most importantly of all; Molly bought a cat.

But one of the most significant changes to her everyday life Molly had not expected or planned. Sherlock Holmes began frequenting her lab almost on a daily basis, doing experiments using Molly's equipment and talking at such a high speed Molly could not keep up. He was a mad man, running from hot too cold in a split second and then disappearing for days.

The young pathologist was quickly learning what and what not to say in front of the consulting detective, but with his recent sobriety and lack of cases had caused Sherlock to lash out at her for merely looking him in the eyes.

_He can be so cruel_

And yet Molly still came when he called, probably a side effect of the conversation they had the last time he came in last week.

"_Why would I need another person? I am capable of living my life without a lackey following my every step. I have gone my whole life without anyone and I will continue as such…"_

Molly seriously doubted that Sherlock was as alone as he thought he was and yet it still made Molly sad and fuelled her kindness towards the slightly mad consulting detective.

Kindness that had compelled her to answer his call this time.

An hour or so ago Molly had been on her way home from work when a boy ran up to her on the street. He had been shabbily dress and dirty, Molly guesses he was homeless and got out her purse to give him a tenner. The little boy shocked her by handing her a note and saying that; 'everything 'ah already been paid for'. The note and its message only served to make Molly's daily headache even worse.

_If convenient come to 221B Baker Street at once, I need your assistance._

_If inconvenient come anyway._

_-SH._

_P.S Bring Chicken soup._

Molly hadn't even gone home to change, she went straight to the market and got the soup and headed straight to the address in a cab. But as she looked up at the building Molly found herself analysing the situation and hoping to god this wasn't the man's attempt at a booty call.

_Would you be scandalized if it was?..._

Molly shook her head and cursed her brain. Despite what her work mates thought she was not in love with Sherlock Holmes, and not sleeping with him her bosses slutty receptionist testified. Molly let Sherlock use her lab because the higher ups had given him permission to be their … and she kind of owed him for saving her life … and his mind was quite fascinating.

With on final sigh Molly climbed the steps and knocked on the front door, only to have it swing open under her hand and a cheerful older woman appear in its place.

Molly squeaked and retracted her hands quickly.

" I was wondering when you were gonna come up," the woman said cheerfully as she guided Molly inside with a motherly smile plastered on her face.

"I-"

"Don't worry; I would be reluctant to see Sherlock in this state too. That boy has one hell of a temper when he's without his cigarettes."

Molly wondered in the back of her mind weather this woman was privy to Sherlock's former drug use, or whether she was trying to be discrete. Molly swallowed those thoughts and put on her best smile.

"I'm Molly Hooper, I work with Sherlock … kind of."

"Martha, Martha Hudson. I'm the land lady here." She said guiding Molly to a rather long stair case and rail, "Sherlock said you would be coming. It's nice to know Sherlock had friends other than those nice boys from the Yard, I was beginning to think he was a complete social recluse!"

Molly smiled, how else could she reply to that? Martha was too kindly to let down …. _Martha? Too formal stick to Mrs Hudson._

"Well I'll let you go, Sherlock is moody when he's left waiting. Call if you need anything, love!"

And with that the kindly landlady was gone, leaving Molly to climb the daunting stairs alone.

_Oh dear._

After a short battle up the wooden musical instrument that passed for stairs Molly found herself at yet another door, but this time as she went to nock-

"Come in Molly."

Molly sighed and pushed the door open, entering the apartment quickly so she didn't lose her nerve and run home and cover up with her cat … _I really need to name him…._

The flat of Sherlock Holmes was exactly as Molly expected; a mess or books, sheets of paper and a pile of lab equipment that Molly was too afraid to gaze at in case it had St Bartholomew's written on the them.

Sherlock was stretched out –face down- on a rather battered looking couch with a litter of tissues on the floor and coffee tables beside him. A glass of separating orange juice balanced precariously on the coffee table and an expensive looking Violin was placed next to it. The biggest shock though was seeing the usually snappily dressed Sherlock in mismatched pyjamas and an old blue dressing gown.

The consulting detective turned his face towards Molly when she stepped closer and the second she saw his face Molly stopped being a nervous twit and became Dr Hooper.

"Oh Sherlock…"

The young woman rushed around the coffee table to sit on the couch by Sherlock's lanky legs, trying not to touch him as she knew he disliked physical contact … or at least _her_ physical contact. Sherlock's face was flushed with fever, tremors running through his body, a running nose and if the bucket he was clutching was anything to go by a tricky tummy.

Sherlock crinkled his nose.

"You smell like the morgue."

Molly rolled her eyes and leaned forwards to place her hand in his forehead.

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick? I would have come better prepared to treat you."

Sherlock's only response was to roll his eyes, as a shiver ran through his body. Molly sighed and slipped the bucket form Sherlock's iron grasp.

"You're burning up have you taken any…." Molly trailed off at Sherlock's glare.

Molly stood up intending to move away, far away from Sherlock so she wouldn't be a target when Sherlock's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

"I don't have anybody…." The words were so weak and quiet Molly lost her breath. Sherlock looked so small and …. So un-Sherlock it was almost terrifying.

"Wha-"

"I don't …" Sherlock struggled with his words, probably fearing weakness and closed his eyes as though that would make it easier, "I don't have anyone else. Mrs Hudson has a weak immune system and limited knowledge of diseases … and I don't want my sickness to attack her, she has a weak immune system. Lestrade wouldn't be competent enough, and he's busy with his marriage anyway, and I would rather suffer than have any of those clods form the yard in my flat. And my family … out of the question…."

Molly looked down at him in silence with wide eyes. That was probably the most Sherlock had ever said to her that wasn't 'Black two sugars', 'your hair, is it different?', or something that completely destroyed her self-esteem.

"I've … I can't remember ever being sick like this and I don't … I need h… I would like it if you would assist me in beating this sickness…"

Molly was frozen in place; she couldn't move or speak for the life of her.

Sherlock tugged her down on to the couch again and placed the hand he was holding on his forehead once more.

"Stay …. Please…"

Molly smiled softly as the man in front of her opened his eyes slowly and gazed up at her. Maybe Sherlock was more human than the world thought.

"What do you need?"

**xxx**

John stood in a slight shock at Molly's story. It was hard for him to comprehend Sherlock in a situation like that let alone say those things to Molly, the woman he treated like his own personal secretary and verbal punching board.

"So … Interesting story!" John chuckled as he moved to once again sit in his chair. It would take him a while to digest that information, "I had no idea that Sherlock had …history?"

Molly blushed from in the kitchen.

"Well I don't think history is right word. I wouldn't be surprised if he deleted the whole night." Molly sighed as she walked back into the sitting room, feeling the slight melancholy that stories always bought forth, "You have any plans for tonight?"

John grinned and told her all about his date with Mary and how he would be leaving in a little while, he wanted to stop and get her some roses first.

"Well while you're getting ready I'll check on the patient. Have fun tonight." Molly announced as she moved towards Sherlock rather daunting bed room door.

"I'd say the same to you but…"

Molly chuckled and gave him one last wave over her shoulder as she pushed open Sherlock's door and closed it softly behind her.

To Molly's surprise Sherlock was awake and lying on his back, as opposed to semiconscious and curled around his sick bucket. Half eaten food lay on the tray beside his bed and Molly could tell by the smell of the room that he was keeping the other half down.

Without a word Molly started to move around the room, picking up clothes, bits of food and experiments, and placing them to the side just in case Sherlock got up in a fever filled haze and needed a clear path. Molly could almost feel Sherlock's eyes burning in to her back as she moved around him. _Why can't he be lost in his bloody mind palace? It would make this situation a whole lot more bearable. _

"Is John going out?" Sherlock's smoky baritone cut through the deafening silence and Molly had to repress a shudder.

"Yeah. Has a date…"

Silence took over once more as Molly finished her task of cleaning and moved on to stand beside Sherlock's bed and measure out cough medicine

Moving slowly with a steady hand Molly sat down on the bed next to Sherlock, wiggling closer so she could give him the medicine. To her complete surprise Sherlock lifted his head form the pillow and placed it firmly in Molly's lap. _In some ways he is a lot like a big lazy cat._

Sherlock took his medicine without complaint, but when Molly moved to get up Sherlock grabbed her wrist, just as he had all those years ago, and stared at her with an unreadable expression.

"Please."

Please was not an easy word for Sherlock Holmes when it came to something to do with his supposedly non-existent feelings. So Molly doesn't say a word as he guides her to lie down on her back beside him.

_Hes putting us on the same level, so I'm not above him in anyway … and he's not above me…_

Molly lay patient and silent. She looked at Sherlock while he gazed up at the ceiling.

"Am I?" he asked suddenly

"Are you what?"

Sherlock swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment, "Am I cruel. Cruel like John said?"

_He heard us. Damn his Vulcan hearing._

Molly sighed.

"Sometimes your deductions can be hurtful, you know that," Sherlock flinched and Molly wondered if he was remembering the incident at the fainted Christmas party, "and some people would view those hurtful deductions as cruel … but Sherlock-"

"Do you think I'm cruel?" Sherlock turned his head so he was looking directly in to Molly's eyes, their faces so close she was sure that he could feel her nervous breaths just as well as she could see his fever flushed face. _I hope I don't smell like tea and yoghurt … I don't want him to sick on me._

"No, I don't think you are cruel Sherlock," She said softly, trying hard not to stutter from the nerves, ""No, I don't think you are cruel Sherlock," She said softly, trying hard not to stutter from the nerves, "Yes you deductions and false flattery hurt me sometimes, but I know that you don't mean it … most of the time. A cruel man would never help people the way you do, a cruel man you have never helped _me_ the way_ you_ did."

Sherlock closed his eyes momentarily.

"I never intended to hurt you Molly Hooper," The almost choked out as he once again looked at her, "Never."

"I'll remember that the next time you make me cry."

Molly had meant that statement as a joke but it seemed to distress Sherlock, sending him flying into a sitting position (with Molly on tow) and pulling his hands hard through his hair. _Don't make jokes Molly, _she chastised herself.

"Sherlock! I'm so-"

The man suddenly wheeled around so he was kneeling somewhat over Molly, with a sleek violinists hand either side of her thighs.

"What-"

"I can change!" he announced suddenly, a wild look on his face, "I-I can change. I never meant to hurt you a-and I won't anymore!"

"Sherlock, that's not who you are. Please lie down before you faint!"

Sherlock grimaced.

"I don't want to hurt you anymore … I don't want to make you cry again…."

Molly smiled at him softly and guided him to once again lie down on the bed with the covers over his body.

"This is the fever talking Sherlock," Molly said sadly as she saw the cough medicine begin to take effect and make Sherlock's ever alert eyes droop with sleep, " In the morning you will feel better and you won't remember this ever happening. Sleep now."

Sherlock's eyes finally won over.

"I will reme …. I will…"

Molly ran her hand over his head, stoking his hair softly between her fingers, lulling him to sleep.

He had been the same last time, making promises of change and kindness. Two months before he met John, Sherlock had even show up at her door with a high temperature with a contract that had specified he would be kind to her at all times. Molly had ripped the thing up and let Sherlock sweet out the fever in her bed that night.

The world was the way the world was. Molly Hooper is a meek and wine loving pathologist, too afraid to walk the streets at night and Sherlock Holmes is the resurrected consulting detective who manipulates her , cares nothing for how he makes people feel and deletes everything that Molly says to him. Kindness in not in Sherlock's nature.

"You're going to delete this, forget that you were sick and that I was here. That's the way it's meant to be."

**xxx**

The next day at noon Sherlock woke to an empty and cleaned flat. He couldn't remember John leaving and he hadn't heard when Molly did.

At the thought of the young brown eyes pathologist something flipped in his stomach, making him wonder if his immune system wasn't as quick working as he thought.

Molly Hooper. The woman who thought nothing of herself and thought everyone else thought the same. She had retracted in on herself drastically since the first time they met.

_I wonder whose fault that is. Why must I always say the wrong thing? Always._

Sherlock ran his hands through his hair and threw himself down on the couch, yelling for John to put the kettle on. He needed to make Molly Hooper see that she was essential … to everything.

xxx

"_I'm a big big girl, In a big big world It's not a big big thing if you leave me. But I do do feel that_-"

Molly walked through her when her probably horrendous singing was cut short by the sight of something on her desk.

_Oh, I hope Bill from accounting isn't leaving me chocolates again. Everyone knows you are married Bill, and everyone knows what you put in those chocolates!_

But it wasn't chocolates from Bill.

On her desk a sat a book, hard covered, bound in green leather with slight fold trim and adorned with the pressed in image of a marigold on the cover. Molly frowned and looked at the spine and it was simply titled, _Flora of the British Isles. _Even more confused than before she opened the form cover and found a message written on the signing page that made her heart stop.

_Deleting you has never been an option, Molly Hooper._

Molly felt all the breath leave her body as she fell down in to her chair without her eyes leaving the elegant scrawl.

"I guess this is his idea of thankyou flowers…."

…

Molly Hooper would always come running when Sherlock Holmes called. But maybe, just maybe he would be willing to run for her.

**XXX**

**A/n. Yay Sherlolly fluff! … Sort of. I don't care I they are out of character I got a request for a sick Sherlock situation and I wrote one! I hope it is enjoyed.**

**Feel free to send me some one-shot requests; I have some spare time coming around.**


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